


The Dancing White Elephant

by dementia_hormones



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dominant Bottom, M/M, Oral Sex, Schweinski, jealous Bastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementia_hormones/pseuds/dementia_hormones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bastian comes to Milan to set Lukas's new teammates straight - literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dancing White Elephant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mueller-schweinski](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mueller-schweinski).



> The idea for this story just stumbled upon me when I wanted to write something for mueller-schweinski (http://mueller-schweinski.tumblr.com/) because she's been answering my questions about learning German and done a lot to flesh out my knowledge of the German National Team. I didn't intend for this to end in a full on sex scene, but once I got going I realized I could use the practice. So here you have it - my first Schweinski Smut fic. Hope you enjoy! And Amber, please don't kill me. I'm sorry that it turned out this way, lol.

Lukas was just turning the key in the knob of his apartment door when it swung open on its own.

Poltergeist? No. More like partner in crime.

His best friend of over ten years.

His soul mate.

His _Hase_.

Bastian.

Fully equipped with a wine glass, flushed cheeks, his trademark black hat (Lukas had dubbed it the “swagger” hat), and a predator’s smile.

“Three weeks. Three _weeks_ , Luki,” he slurred.

“Basti. What are you doing here? And how'd you get in?” Lukas said, pushing past him, their chests brushing in the narrow doorway. “Oh my God. Why did you raise the thermostat so high?”

He wriggled out of his hoodie like it was on fire and threw it onto the back of an armchair. A quick scan of the apartment revealed an assortment of bubbling pots and pans on the stove, something in the oven, a half-empty bottle of Italian white wine - he couldn’t make out the label - and a cross-armed Bastian, back against the door, staring daggers at him.

“Maybe because it’s the middle of fucking winter and there’s snow outside?”

“Why are you answering my question with a question? Don’t you have practice tomorrow?”

“Vice president’s birthday. National holiday. Now, answer my question.”

“You didn’t ask one.”

“Okay. Fine. Here it is: Why haven’t you invited me to Milan yet? It’s been three fucking weeks.”

“I didn’t think you would want to come. Plus, I’ve been busy.”

“ _That’s_ an understatement.” Bastian rolled his eyes and headed to the kitchen, swatting Lukas on the back of his head along the way.

Lukas sighed and trailed after the older man as he checked on the food.“You know how it is. You move to a new city; there’s a lot of things that you have to do.”

“No, I _don’t_ know. That’s not something I have to do very often.”

“Wow. What crawled up your ass?”

“ _Nothing_.” Bastian said, turning around, annoyance written all over his face. “That’s the problem.”

Before Lukas could respond, Bastian was up against him from head to toe, tongue sliding past his lips, a hand wrapping around the base of his skull, a knee pressing up into his groin. Lukas grunted in surprise but kissed back. The taste of wine mixed with Bastian's saliva was strong enough to intoxicate him. If the Bavarian didn’t get him first, second hand alcoholism would. He drank down the sour sweetness, wrestling against Bastian's tongue with his own, evading it, delving into the corners of Bastian's mouth to discover every last crevice.

He hadn't realized how much he’d missed Bastian. The saying _absence makes the heart grow fonder_ didn't quite hold up in practice, at least for him. He really _had_ been that busy. With his career - it seemed like every two seconds his phone was ringing with a new business offer, an invitation to some event, or a problem/question/demand about his Strassenkicker enterprise. And settling in with his new football club had also been a challenge. He'd worked his ass off in training and games to the point of exhaustion, trying his best to connect with the Nerazzurri, both on and off the pitch. He’d barely had time to check in with his own wife, let alone Bastian, whom he’d unintentionally let fall behind on his list of priorities.

That thought hit him full force with guilt, caused him to break the kiss. He took hold of either side of Bastian's face and gave him a good, long once-over. Achingly beautiful as always, green eyes staring back. Heavy, hungry. Angry.

"Now that I've got your attention," Bastian snapped. He pulled his face out of Lukas's hands and turned back towards the food. It could have been 100 degrees Fahrenheit in the room, but Lukas suddenly had the chills.

"So, um," Lukas said hoarsely and cleared his throat. "What's for dinner?"

“Well, I know how you just can't resist _Italian_ ," Bastian brandished the word. He reached for his wine glass and took a sip, shooting Lukas a glance. "Or is it the other way around? Tell me, Lukas. It's quite the conundrum."

Lukas flinched at the use of his name. "I don't know what you're talking about," he feigned, but felt his reddening cheeks give him away. It wasn’t a lie, but he did feel like he’d done something bad. Maybe he _had_ been trying just a little too hard to fit in here.

"That’s alright. Maybe your new friends can help me figure it out," said Bastian with the most malicious giggle Lukas had ever heard. "You might want to go freshen up. They'll be here any minute."

Oh, no. No, no, no. This was _very_ bad. When had it happened? When exactly had Lukas lost such complete and utter control? He knew when: back on the U-21’s when the two of them had shared their international debut against Hungary.

And then the doorbell rang.

~~~

Lukas sat at the head of the table, a death grip on each armrest of his chair. Bastian had parked his own chair unreasonably close next to Lukas’s, so that he, too, could be at the head of the table. A dozen Inter Milan players had somehow managed to pile into an area fit for half as many.

Bastian had been out of control since they’d first arrived. When Mauro Icardi had tried to give Lukas a traditional Italian greeting - a simple hug and a kiss on both cheeks - Bastian had shoved his way between the two of them and nearly crushed Icardi’s hand.

Then Bastian had marched them all into the dining area, distributing threatening shoulder pats along the way. They'd anxiously followed his lead. Waited for him to take the first mouthful before eating, kept smalltalk to a minimum, tucked their tails into his rudeness.

“Seconds, anyone? There’s plenty to go around. What’s wrong with you guys? I thought you all _loved_ pasta," Bastian quipped.

Lukas almost wanted to use Shaqiri, who was to his left, as a security blanket. But the younger man was sitting stiff-backed in his chair, concentrating very hard on not being noticed.

Bastian moved from one person to the next, sniping at any target he’d laid eyes on. First it was at Marco Andreolli and Danilo D’Ambrosio: “what a shame about your hammies, but at least you’ve still got each other.” Then at Shaqiri: “don’t worry Xherdan, you’ll be on the first team on no time.” Finally, after getting no reaction, he’d gone big, targeting their training tactics: “those ring around the rosey drills. Is that how you do things in Milan? They’re cute and all, but I’m not sure they’re working.”

None of the guests had taken the bait. So here they were. Most of the men eyed Bastian as if he were a dangerous beast, waiting to pounce on whoever moved first.

Silence hung over them, stifling. The thermostat was still jammed up way too high, but no one dared complain. Bastian was impervious to it all. He glanced brazenly around the table, settling on Lukas, who squirmed uncomfortably and attempted to diffuse the situation. “Would anyone like to play FIFA? I’ve got a really nice rig set up... full sound system, seventy-five inch screen...”

“That’s a great idea, Luki. These guys could use any practice they can get.” He patted Lukas’s thigh and let his hand rest there, heavy and claustrophobic.

“Is that so,” a voice challenged. Icardi. Apparently he was finally done with Bastian’s antics. “I’ve gotten two goals just this month. How many did you get?”

“Well, that’s not really my job. But even so, I’m sure I’m not the only one getting tired of watching the amount of times you miss,” Bastian shot back.

“Did you even see my header against Genoa?”

Bastian yawned. “Yeah, I saw it. It was pretty good for a Serie A goal.”

There was a loud scrape of a chair against hardwood. Icardi was standing, arms braced. “Fuck you, man.”

Lukas was up too, holding up a hand at Icardi in a silent plea. To Bastian, he asked, “Basti, please. What’s gotten into you?”

“Absolutely _nothing_ ,” Bastian centering on Lukas, his grin positively feral.

Lukas met his glare, searching, seeking, not backing down. He saw anger there, defiance and hurt. He realized those things all been there for a lot longer than just tonight - Bastian had behaved similarly during Lukas's time at Arsenal. Now, the alcohol and Lukas's new teammates were a floodgate for his emotions and behavior.

And then it clicked. Bastian was jealous. He was insanely, rabidly jealous. Lukas should have figured it out sooner. The realization had him instantly hard. This crazy display of dominance was all because of him. _For_ him. He stared down at Bastian with a mixture of lust and pride. He wanted to throw the Bavarian on top of the table and fuck him silly in front of everyone.

Instead, he nudged Bastian’s leg with his own. "Apologize."

"What?"

"Apologize to Icardi. Now."

Bastian snorted. "What for? It's the truth. But I will say this," he looked back at the young Argentine. "Stay away from Lukas. Don't hug him. Don't touch him. Don't hold his hand, and definitely don't kiss him. You got that?"

If the silence was uncomfortable before, now it was absolutely unbearable. There was a white elephant in the room, and it was dancing on the table.

"What the fuck, man? I'm not gay. I don't wanna touch your boyfriend," Icardi spat.

“Just don’t get too attached, because he’s only with guys for a few more months,” Bastian replied with a shrug. “Wouldn’t want him taken advantage of in a foreign country.”

Lukas turned to Icardi with a sly simper. "Sorry, man. I'll keep my hands to myself. I just get ahead of myself sometimes."

"Whatever," Icardi mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Bastian stretched languidly and stood up, squashing Lukas's toes with the heel of his shoe. Lukas tried to stifle the pained grunt that came from his lips, but caught the triumphant smile on Bastian’s face. Fine then. He was playing the game too - he’d already plotted out how the night would end. With his dick buried in Bastian. To the hilt.

"Glad we're all clear now. Now why don't you all go relax with some FIFA," ordered Bastian and dragged Lukas off to the kitchen.

~~~

The sound of laughter and crowd-chants trailed into the kitchen from the living room. While Bastian was cleaning dishes in the sink, Lukas shuttled back and forth with plates from the table. Each time he went by, he would brush against Bastian, touching him. A quick ass-grope here, an ear flick there.

"Send them home," said Bastian after his fourth visit, voice low.

"But they're finally having a good time," Lukas teased, nibbling at the back of Bastian's neck. "Even after all you've done to traumatize them."

Bastian dropped the plate he was holding with a loud clatter. He spun around, backed Lukas up against a wall, so that their noses were almost-but-not-quite touching and palmed Lukas's crotch, which had been uncomfortably tight all this time. "Send. Them. _Home_ ," he said again, a dangerous purr in his ear.

Lukas shivered and shut his eyes; suddenly it was hard to breathe. There was no choice. The Nerazzurri had to leave.

One small step into the living room, one giant leap toward getting laid tonight. He cleared his throat and twelve pairs of eyes focused on him.

"I'm sorry guys. I just got a complaint from the landlord about noise. We're going to have to end the evening early."

None of them were too disappointed about being shoved out. In fact, they looked pretty damn eager to leave.

~~~

As soon as the door shut, Bastian pounced on Lukas from behind, all teeth and nails and tongue, sending him sprawling into the door, knocking the wind out of him. Lukas had never seen Bastian like this before. So desperate and wild.

Lukas twisted around so he could get at the blonde's face and then attacked his mouth, licking and biting at his lips, clacking their teeth together, meeting his intensity. He moved his hands down to cup Bastian's buttocks, digging his fingers into the firm flesh. Bastian let out a half-moan and ground his hips into Lukas.

Lukas picked him up without breaking the kiss, carried the writhing man into his bedroom, dropped him unceremoniously onto the bed. There was a pause where they just stared at each other - the calm before the storm. Then, as if on cue, they peeled their shirts off, impatiently ripping at the fabric in their way, Bastian tossing his hat somewhere at a wall.

Lukas kicked one of Bastian’s legs to the side, giving himself space to work. He dove into Bastian’s stomach, one hand on a hip, another on the opposite leg, pinning him down. He kissed the smooth, white skin, nuzzling, licking, following the soft fuzz from Bastian’s navel down toward his groin. Ran into pants. Fuck. Lukas bit helplessly at the clasp.

Bastian snickered and pushed Lukas’s head away. He undid the button and began to wiggle out of them, gyrating his hips a little for show. Lukas’s own cock twitched against the cage of his pants, and he bit his lip before growing restless and taking over, dragging them down the rest of the way, pulling each of Bastian's feet through.

The black briefs Bastian had on were mouth-wateringly tight. Lukas bent forward, darted his tongue out to taste the wetness seeping through from the head of Bastian’s cock, slowly circled it through the fabric. The taste made him dizzy. He traced his fingers along the shaft down to the swell of Bastian’s balls, cupping them, gently squeezing.

“Fuck, Luki. You can’t - just. _Do_ something, would you, ”Bastian whined above him and bucked his hips.

Lukas pressed them back down into the mattress, ignoring Bastian’s pleas. He hadn’t had Bastian in three months - he wasn’t about to rush things. He nuzzled the junction where shaft met balls, reveling in the scent. Now that Bastian was here, like this, Lukas realized how much he’d been missing out. How incomplete he’d been.

Sure, he could have gotten by, making nice with the Italians, being “Poldi.” It was good enough for him in the moment, but he hadn’t been getting what he'd actually needed. And neither had Bastian. In the pursuit of rescuing his career, he’d been punishing them both.

When Bastian bucked again, grinded his groin roughly up into Lukas’s face, he took pity and tugged at the underwear. Bastian lifted his hips so that Lukas could finish sliding them down. Finally free, Bastian's cock stood straight up, painfully rigid and beautiful in its arousal. Lukas refrained from the urge to bury his nose at the base again and went straight for the kill, taking it fully into his mouth. He sucked and swirled his tongue, bobbing up and down on it until Bastian scrapped at his Lukas's hair, gasping, “Stop, I'm close.”

Running a reassuring hand up Bastian’s side, he slid off of him and reached into his nightstand in search of lube.

“Pants, Luki,” Bastian said, sitting up. Lukas had forgotten about them. He almost fell over trying to get rid of last of his clothes. Bastian let out another rude snicker. Some of the alpha-male was still there, but now the sunshine was back. The two expressions mixed together on Bastian’s face was almost enough to make Lukas come right then and there. He was back between Bastian’s legs at lightning speed, folding his own legs underneath him and propping Bastian over his thighs.

He pushed at Bastian’s torso, wanting him down, but the other man stopped him: “Like this,” he said, resting his hands on Lukas’s shoulders. Lukas covered his mouth with another kiss, and Bastian reached down to wrap his hand around Lukas’s cock, giving it a few pumps. A whimper escaped from his mouth, and he felt Bastian’s smile against his lips.

“Alright, get off my dick. We have work to do,” he, said with a grin, wiggling his fingers, and popped the cap off the lube. He smeared some of the cold gel onto his fingers, reached down between Bastian’s thighs, nudged at the ring of muscle there. Bastian gasped at the coldness. Lukas planted an apologetic kiss on his collarbone, then slid a finger inside, drawing forth a soft breath from Bastian.

"Fuck, you're really tight."

"I've been waiting for you."

Bastian covered Lukas’s free hand with his own, twining their fingers together. The energy had shifted from a power play to more of a mutual endeavor on how to get them both what they’d needed all this time. Lukas added a second finger. When he felt the muscles relax further, he wriggled them, feeling around for _that_ spot. He knew he'd found it when Bastian hissed, buried his face in Lukas’s shoulder, spread his legs wider.

“More,” whispered Bastian. Lukas obliged and added a third, opening and curling them up into the small mound of flesh. Bastian became a moaning mess, his arms around Lukas’s neck, almost strangling him. Lukas gripped Bastian’s hip as he went at that spot again and again. He felt the muscles quivering around his fingers and knew Bastian was close. His own cock twitched in response, threatening - he’d come right there with him.

“Stop, stop,” Bastian rasped and grappled at Lukas’s wrist in a weak attempt to get the fingers out. “Lukas, please, I need you _now_.”

Lukas removed his fingers and spread their wetness over his length. He glanced up to see Bastian watching in fascination, reaching out to touch too. “Don’t, Basti, I’m too close for that.”

Bastian looked back up at him, eyes blown, almost too far gone to comprehend. But he pressed on Lukas’s shoulders, raising himself up. Lukas positioned the tip of his cock at Bastian’s entrance, asking. Bastian answered by lowering himself down, swallowing the head. They moaned in unison. Bastian threw his head back, Lukas bit into his neck.

Bastian didn’t waste any time and sunk down all the way, engulfing Lukas completely, his eyes squeezed shut in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

They wrapped their arms around each other, and Lukas’s world narrowed down to only Bastian: the electric heat of Bastian’s skin against his, their chests rising and falling together, the tightness of Bastian around his dick. And then Bastian began to move. Pinpricks of pleasure sparked at bottom of Lukas’s spine and spread upwards. He started moving too, meeting Bastian’s thrusts with his own. In his head, a voice said to slow down, to give Bastian time, but he couldn’t stop, and Bastian didn’t want to wait anyway.

Their movements quickened, bodies slammed against each other, the wet smack of skin alongside their moans of pleasure creating a sublime harmony. Lukas went deeper, deeper with each thrust, as deep as he could go. He could feel the hardness of Bastian’s length sliding between them, and pressed his fingers into Bastian’s back, hugging him even closer against his body, drawing a stream of obscenities out of Bastian.

Bastian’s words became incoherent, his thrusts growing more frantic then losing their rhythm. He stuttered and then his entire body went rigid, suffocating Lukas in a death grip, his muscles convulsing around Lukas’s cock, squeezing him, bringing him to the edge, consuming him in fire. He couldn’t see the room anymore, his vision completely shot except for Bastian. He gave one final thrust, drove up as hard as he could, felt like he was going to split Bastian apart but completely powerless to stop, and then he was spurting deep inside of Bastian.

~~~

Lukas came back to himself and focused bleary eyes on Bastian, who looked completely fucked out. His hands were still digging into Lukas’s shoulders - there were going to be marks there tomorrow. Cheeks red and lips swollen, chest heaving, a layer of sweat gleaming on his skin, absolutely nothing left. He was _beautiful_. Lukas pressed his lips over Bastians heart, sliding out of him with a wet sound. Their stomachs were sticky with come and his was dripping out of Bastian onto the sheets, but neither of them cared. This was their moment. Tomorrow, Bastian would be on his way back to Munich, and Lukas didn’t know when he’d see him again.

He lined up behind the Bavarian, wrapping his arms around him and resting his lips on the back of his neck. Bastian sighed into him.

“Do you get it now?” asked Bastian.

“Get what?”

“Stop fucking with the Italians. You’re mine.”

Lukas grinned, his mouth stretching against Bastian’s skin. “How am I supposed to stop if it gets you down to see me?”

“You’re a fucking dick,” Bastian growled weakly, his arm moving backwards to give Lukas’s ass a squeeze.

“Is that the only reason you came here? For my dick?”

There was no response. Bastian was already asleep.

_Yup. Totally worth it_ , was Lukas’s last thought before he drifted off.

~ END ~

**Author's Note:**

> meh, after editing I noticed so many little things that need fixing, and I'm still struggling with finding my writing voice. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr: dementiahormones.tumblr.com
> 
> Feel free to shoot me a message to let me know what you thought, or if you just want to chat about random stuff!
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
